Part 5 (2/2)

”You see what a woman's hand can do. Lucille couldn't resist the temptation of straightening things for you,” observed the owner of Bonaventure. ”She said the place resembled a----”

The girl blushed a little, and shook her head warningly at her father, while, as she did so, her bright hair caught a shaft of light from the window and s.h.i.+mmered like burnished gold. For a moment it struck me that she equaled her sister in beauty; and she was wholly bewitching with the mischief s.h.i.+ning in her eyes. There was, however, a depth of kindliness beneath the mischief, and I had seen the winsome face grow proud with a high courage one night when the snows whirled about Bonaventure.

Nevertheless, I straightway forgot it when Beatrice Haldane set to work among the teacups at the head of the table, for her presence transfigured the room. I had often, as I sat there through the bitter winter nights, pictured her taking a foremost place in some scene of brightness in London or Montreal, but never presiding at my poor table or handling my dilapidated crockery with her dainty fingers. She did it, as she did everything, very graciously; while, to heighten the contrast, the lowing of cattle and the hoa.r.s.e shouts of those who drove them, mingled with whipcracks and the groaning of jolting wagons, came in through the open windows.

For a time the meal progressed satisfactorily. Haldane was excellent company, and I had almost forgotten my fears that some untoward accident might happen, when his younger daughter asked: ”What is a gopher, Mr.

Cotton? I have heard of them, but never saw one.”

I projected a foot in his direction under the table, regretting I had discarded my working boots, and Haldane, dropping his fork, looked up sharply.

”A little beast between a rat and a squirrel, which lives in a hole in the ground. There are supposed to be more of them round Gaspard's Trail than anywhere in Canada,” answered the trooper, incautiously. ”That's quite correct, Ormesby. You cannot contradict me.”

I did not answer, but grew uneasy, seeing that he could not take a hint; and the girl continued: ”Are they fond of swimming?”

”I don't think so,” answered Cotton, with a slightly puzzled air; and then added, with an infantile attempt at humor, for which I longed to choke him: ”I'm not a natural historian, but Ormesby ought to know. I found him not long ago in a very bad temper fis.h.i.+ng dozens of dead ones out of his well. Perhaps they swam too long, and were too tired to climb out, you know.”

Lucille Haldane, who had been thirsty, gave a little gasp and laid her hand on the cup Cotton would have pa.s.sed on for replenis.h.i.+ng. Her sister glanced at her with some surprise, and then quietly set down her own, while I grew hot all over and felt savagely satisfied by the way he winced that this time I had got my heel well down on Cotton's toe. Then there was an awkward silence until Haldane, leaning back in his chair, laughed boisterously when the lad, attempting to retrieve one blunder, committed another.

”I am afraid there are a good many at Bonaventure, and it is not Ormesby's fault, you see. It is almost impossible for anybody to keep them out of the wells in dry weather; but n.o.body minds a few gophers in this country.”

Haldane had saved the situation; but his elder daughter filled no more teacups, and both my fair guests seemed to lose their appet.i.te, while I was almost glad when the meal I had longed might last all night was over and Lucille and her father went out to inspect the cattle. I, however, detained Cotton, who was following them with alacrity.

”Your jokes will lead you into trouble some day, and it's a pity you couldn't have displayed your genius in any other direction,” I said.

”You need not get so savage over a trifle,” he answered apologetically.

”I really didn't mean to upset things--it was an inspiration. No man with any taste could be held responsible for his answers when a girl with eyes like hers cross-questions him. You really ought to cultivate a better temper, Ormesby.”

I let him go, and joined Beatrice Haldane, who had remained behind the rest. She did not seem to care about horses and cattle, and appeared grateful when I found her a snug resting-place beneath the strawpile granary.

”You are to be complimented, since you have realized at least part of your aspirations,” she said, as she swept a glance round my possessions.

”Is it fair to ask, are you satisfied with--this?”

I followed her eyes with a certain thrill of pride. Wheat land, many of the dusty cattle, broad stretch of prairie, barns, and buildings were mine, and the sinewy statuesque hors.e.m.e.n, who came up across the levels behind further bunches of dappled hide and tossing horns, moved at my bidding. By physical strain and mental anxiety I had steadily extended the boundaries of Gaspard's Trail, and, had I been free from Lane, would in one respect have been almost satisfied. Then I looked up at my companion, whose pale-tinted draperies and queenly head with its cl.u.s.tering dark locks were outlined against the golden straw, and a boldness, as well as a great longing, came upon me.

”It is a hard life, but a good one,” I said. ”There is no slackening of anxiety and little time for rest, but the result is encouraging. When I took hold, with a few hundred pounds capital, Gaspard's Trail was sod-built and its acreage less than half what it is at present; but this is only the beginning, and I am not content. Bad seasons do not last forever, and in spite of obstacles I hope the extension will continue until it is the largest holding on all this prairie; but even that consummation will be valuable only as the means to an end.”

Beatrice Haldane looked at me with perfect composure. ”Is it all worth while, and how long have you been so ambitious?” she asked, with a smile, the meaning of which I could not fathom.

”Since a summer spent in England showed me possibilities undreamed of before,” I said; and while it is possible that the vibration in my voice betrayed me, the listener's face remained a mask. Beatrice Haldane was already a woman of experience.

”One might envy your singleness of purpose, but there are things which neither success nor money can buy,” she said. ”Probably you have no time to carefully a.n.a.lyze your motives, but it is not always wise to take too much for granted. Even if you secured all you believe prosperity could give you you might be disappointed. Wiser men have found themselves mistaken, Rancher Ormesby.”

”You are right in the first case,” I answered. ”But in regard to the other, would not the effort be proof enough? Would any man spend the best years of his life striving for what he did not want?”

”Some have spent the whole of it, which was perhaps better than having the longer time for disappointment,” answered the girl, with a curious smile. ”But are we not drifting, as we have done before, into a profitless discussion of subjects neither of us knows much about?

Besides, the sun is swinging farther west and the glare hurts my eyes, while father and Lucille appear interested yonder.”

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